She’s at the kitchen counter when I wake up for breakfast.
“Please tell me you are not going out looking like that, now tell me; what would your father think?” Cynthia hides her smirk over the rim of her simmering cup of expresso, she takes a second to scan me from head to toe looking for any other imperfection in my appearance she can exploit.
“It’s Saturday mother,” I manage to somehow keep my voice light and friendly. Going to the fridge I pull out a random apple and move to wash it under the faucet. Before she can tell me something about how Geraldine should be in charge of preparing my meals I turn back around with a pleasant smile on my lips. “What brings you here?”
“I spoke with Mrs. Willows, she was so distraught. Imagine her son returning home from school beat all k
